He read them anyway. Not because he was interested, but because it stopped him thinking about anything else. It stopped him re-running the images and sounds from a couple of hours before – the terrified expression on a face falling through air, a sickening crunch, and a voice suddenly cut off, stopped short as if someone had turned the ‘off’ switch of a radio. And the awful silence that followed. Worse – the singing of the birds and the whirring of cables, as life carried on as normal, undisturbed by the moment of death. It was as if they were mocking him for his failure.

Oh, wait. That was the stuff he wasn’t going to think about.

Cooper surprised the cat by picking him up and rubbing the fur behind his ears. Randy gave him a hostile look. This wasn’t in the routine. There was still food to be eaten.

‘OK, OK. It’s not your problem, I know.’

But it had done the trick, and broken his train of thought. He put the cat down again and turned back to his email. How many is a brazillion? That was a good one.

Of course, there was more to think about yet. It was Friday, the day of Matt’s appointment with Dr Joyce, their GP. Matt knew his brother would be home at this time of the evening, but he’d have no idea what Ben had been through during the day.

As if their minds were already making a connection, the phone rang. Ben had no doubt who it was. He could picture Matt in the office at Bridge End Farm, and he could imagine his expression changing with each unanswered ring. He could just decide to ignore the call, of course. Would Matt give up and go away, and never mention the subject again? No, he wouldn’t.

‘Hi, Matt.’

There was a second of silence. ‘How did you know it was me?’

‘It figured.’

‘I keep forgetting. You’re a detective.’

Matt sounded calmer than when they’d spoken last night. Was that a good sign, or not?

‘You had the appointment today, right?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Was it any use?’ asked Ben.

‘Well, actually – yes.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘Nothing. He just listened.’

‘Right. So . . . ?’

‘He’s a smart bloke, that doctor,’ said Matt. ‘That’s all I needed, really – somebody to listen. I felt a lot better afterwards.’

‘Well, that’s good.’

Ben reflected that it was perhaps what he’d refused to do himself, to listen. He hadn’t wanted to hear what Matt was saying.

‘Do you know what I reckon?’ said Matt. ‘I think I was getting worked up about this business over Mum’s problem so that I didn’t have to worry about the real stuff.’

So they were back to the euphemisms. Back to the family collusion, the maintenance of the pretence. That was quite normal.